They stood in the hall, all smiling, except for Archie, whose expression was so pained it was more of a grimace than a smile.
“It’s perfect,” gushed Mrs. Weavel, taking her husband’s hand.
“I would like to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” said Mr. Weavel. He was clearly the sort of man who liked to talk big. He expected Archie to look pleased. Archie looked miserable.
“You won’t be sorry,” said Mr. Townley, breaking into a sweat. “It’s a rare piece of England. A jewel, and it comes with the charming little town of Pendrift.”
“We appreciate that,” replied Mr. Weavel, puffing out his chest. “And our guests will appreciate that, too. It’s a shame when these old houses are allowed to go to ruin because the grand families who live in them don’t have the cash to maintain them. That’s where we step in. We’d like to throw you a lifeline and rescue your house.” He glanced up at the pretty moldings on the ceiling and shook his head. “To think that this beautiful place has been hidden from view for three hundred years. Damn shame, if you ask me. Now it will be enjoyed by everyone.”
Archie’s face grew redder and redder as he tried to contain his anger and humiliation. He had never been so insulted in his life. He focused on the debt and the offer they were about to make him and tried to ignore their oafishness.
Suddenly the sound of Bouncy’s piping voice rang through the house, making Archie’s heart leap. However, the feeling was short-lived, for holding the boy’s hand was Elizabeth, her bottom lip protruding with fury.
The three visitors turned as Elizabeth Montague’s large frame filled the door that led into the hall from the kitchen wing.
“Mother!” Archie exclaimed, looking aghast. “What are—”
“How dare you not inform me that you are intending to sell Pendrift! I have to find it out from my grandson.” She banged her stick on the floor, as if her furious face was not enough to convey her outrage. Bouncy stared up at his grandmother in wonder, for her ears had turned bright red.
“Please excuse me,” Archie said to the Weavels, hoping to usher Elizabeth into the drawing room. Like one of his stubborn heifers, she would not budge. “We were going to tell you once it was all settled,” he explained gently, through gritted teeth. Julia, who had heard the familiar boom of her mother-in-law’s voice, hurried out into the hall. Suddenly, the appalled expression on Mrs. Weavel’s perfectly made-up face made her want to scream with laughter. Soames, who was hiding in the pantry, heard everything and he, too, smiled to himself. With any luck, Elizabeth Montague would put off any buyer unfortunate enough to meet her.
Elizabeth turned on the visitors. “Do you know how long I have lived in Pendrift? Almost sixty years. Sixty years! Do you know how long my late husband, Ivan Montague, lived here? His whole life. This house has been in my husband’s family for three hundred years. If you think I’m going to stand back and let a pair of upstarts snatch it from under my nose, you’ve got another think coming.”
Mr. Townley looked on the point of fainting. It was all too horrendous. The Weavels would never buy the place now.
“And you!” she glared at Mr. Townley, who visibly shrank with fright. “I don’t want to see your face in this house again. Do you understand me? I may be old, but I’m a formidable opponent with my stick.” She banged it on the floor again to prove her point. Bouncy stuck his tongue out at Mrs. Weavel, who recoiled.
“Darling, we’re leaving,” she said to her husband. Mr. Weavel remained rooted to the spot. “Right now!” she shrieked, making for the door.
Soames appeared out of nowhere to open it for them. He was unable to hide the pleasure that put a glow in his sallow cheeks. Mr. Townley said nothing. He followed Mr. Weavel, scurrying into the back of the car like a scalded rat. The wheels spun on the gravel for a moment as Mr. Weavel hit the accelerator with too much force. Then they were gone.
Julia began to cry with happiness. Without premeditating her actions, she ran over to Elizabeth and threw her arms around her. “I love you!” she cried. Elizabeth looked startled for a moment, but then her mouth twitched a little before breaking into a broad smile. Julia could feel her shaking beneath the hulk of her body.
“As if I would ever let anyone buy Pendrift. Over my dead body.” She would have hugged Julia back had it not been for Bouncy, who still held one hand, and the stick, which remained in the other. It felt good to smile, to feel her heart inflate with joy. She remembered that feeling now. How she had missed it.
“I’m ashamed, Mother,” said Archie, looking down at his feet.
“Are you in so much trouble?” she asked gently, hobbling over to him.
“I’m afraid we are,” he said, running his fingers over his mustache again.
“Then why didn’t you come and talk to me?”
“We didn’t want to upset you.”
“Codswallop. I’m more upset now than I’ve ever been.” She shook her head. “I love this house and everyone in it. This is where Wilfrid, Sam, and little Bouncy belong. They’re Montagues, don’t forget.” Bouncy looked pleased to be mentioned and ran off to jump on the sofas in the drawing room. Since Nanny had retired to a small cottage on the estate, he spent an awful lot of time springing about in the grown-up parts of the house. His mother was too kindhearted to tell him to stop, or perhaps it gave her pleasure to see him so happy. “I’m hurt that you felt you couldn’t talk to me. Am I such a monster?”
“What are we going to do?” said Julia, looking anxious again.
“I don’t know, my dear,” said Elizabeth, straightening up, ready for battle again. “But whatever it takes, we will not sell Pendrift. Something will turn up. We’ll stand firm, and we’ll never surrender. Your father would turn in his grave if he thought of this place passing into the hands of those clods, and it would just about finish me off. Actually,” she said, grinning sheepishly, “I think the excitement has given me another lease on life. Soames, a gin and tonic, please, and make it snappy. Let’s go and sit in the drawing room. Where’s Father Dalgliesh? It’s about time he made a direct call to the Lord. We need a little divine intervention!”
Julia raised her eyebrows at her husband, who frowned back in bewilderment. He had never seen his mother in such good form.
Penelope, on the other hand, was not in good form. Lotty had run off with Francis Browne. She couldn’t understand what had taken hold of her daughter that she would give up her future for the love of a man of no means. Talent was worth nothing if it didn’t put food on the table. “One has to be realistic and keep one’s feet on the ground,” she explained to Melissa, who was as shocked by the news as her mother.
She wasn’t sure which upset her more: the fact that her sister had run off with a man, or that she hadn’t let her in on the secret. The whole thing was compounded by Monty’s death. Two disasters in one family were more than anyone should have to take.
“In this day and age it is far more important to be comfortable than to be in love. One can grow to love one’s husband. I did. Milton and I are a picture of happiness.” (This wasn’t entirely true, but she was terrified Melissa would copy her sister and run off with the dreaded Rafferty, who was almost as unsuitable as Francis Browne.) “Besides, all-consuming love really doesn’t last. It’s like a fire. It consumes everything in the first rush and then diminishes to embers. Friendship is more lasting and true. Poor Edward; he’ll be devastated when he hears the news. Of course, if the whole thing blows up in her face, he won’t have her back. No one will have her. I don’t suppose she thought of that when she decided to run off with Mr. Nothing.”
“It isn’t too late,” said Melissa. “She might change her mind.”
“I hope she doesn’t,” retorted her mother fruitily. “The damage is already done.”
“You can’t let her be penniless!”
“She has made her choice; let her suffer the consequences. We will have to suffer the shame.”
“Everyone will talk about it,” said Melissa miserably
.
“They’re already talking of nothing but Monty’s death. Really, we have never been so fascinating.” She heaved a sigh, her bosom rising to meet her third chin. “Don’t you dare entertain ideas of doing the same thing, Melissa. I can only suffer this once.”
Melissa thought of Rafferty O’Grady and simply nodded obediently.
That evening, Father Dalgliesh dined with Archie, Julia, and Elizabeth Montague in the dining room at the Hall. He arrived on his bicycle and leaned it up against the wall. As was his custom, Soames appeared in the doorway, but it was a very different Soames from the sour butler who never greeted him without a scowl. There was something different about his face. His nose seemed to have grown smaller. Father Dalgliesh looked at him more closely as he climbed the steps. It was then that it struck him. The butler was no longer looking down his nose.
“Good evening, Father,” he said, and even his voice was different. It had a slight bounce to it, as if his words were made of rubber.
“Good evening, Soames,” Father Dalgliesh replied. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he added, referring to the late invitation to dinner.
“It is indeed, Father. Mrs. Elizabeth insisted you come.”
Father Dalgliesh felt his stomach churn. He was rather intimidated by that overbearing woman. But Soames led him into the hall, and there was no time to dwell on their dreaded meetings in the parlor. To Father Dalgliesh’s surprise, the drawing room door was open, and laughter spilled out. He heard the voice of a child, and his spirits rose; he couldn’t help but love that little boy who ran tirelessly up and down the nave every Sunday morning.
“Ah, Father,” said Archie, getting up. His face was ruddy and his eyes red rimmed, but he was smiling enthusiastically. “Do come in.”
Julia and Elizabeth were sitting on the large sofa, watching Bouncy jump off the upholstered coffee table onto the smaller sofa. He wore blue-and-white-striped pajamas, and his hair had been brushed with a side parting. His chubby face was rosy, and his brown eyes sparkled. It was a joyous sight. What surprised Father Dalgliesh the most was that Elizabeth was smiling. He had never seen her smile. It was unexpectedly captivating.
“Do come and watch Bouncy,” she said, waving him over. “We put him to bed, but the little monkey escaped and made a break for it.”
“I’m pleased to see him,” said Father Dalgliesh.
“Oh, we are, too. It’s always a joy to see that darling child!”
“Hello, Father,” said Julia. “He’ll go back to bed shortly. He’s very tired.”
“That’s because he’s played with me all day,” exclaimed Elizabeth proudly. “He’s my little friend, aren’t you, Bouncy?” The child grinned at her before launching himself off the table and landing on the sofa with a squeal of glee. When he smiled like that he looked so like her younger brother.
“How are you all?” Father Dalgliesh asked, sitting down in an armchair, his view of the two women obscured every few minutes by the flying child.
“Actually, not good,” said Archie, rubbing his mustache. “Not good at all.”
“Oh, dear,” he replied.
“We’re in a bit of bother,” Archie began, then stalled.
“We are struggling to maintain the house,” Julia continued. “We don’t want to sell it, of course, but we’re going to have to do something if we want to keep it.”
“Oh, dear,” said Father Dalgliesh again. “Can I help?”
“Of course you can!” exclaimed Elizabeth heartily. “You say yourself that the power of prayer is very strong. Well, you can put in a good word for us. Prayer couldn’t bring Monty back; I was a fool to think it could. One has to accept what has happened and move on. However, my son and husband would turn in their graves if they got wind of us struggling to hold on to their family home. No, it simply won’t do. You’re our last resort.”
“God usually is,” said Father Dalgliesh dryly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I will do my best. I find that miracles do happen, but in the most unlikely ways. If God grants you your wish, expect to be surprised.”
He was uneasy that they were pinning all their hopes on him. He averted his gaze, resting it quite by chance on a photograph of Celestria that stood in a frame on the table beside him. She was radiant and smiling, her blond hair blowing in the breeze, dressed in her polka-dot halter-neck top, sitting on the sand with the sea glittering beside her. His heart stumbled a moment as he remembered that awkward moment in the parlor. It had shaken him to the core, not because of any wrongdoing on his behalf but because, deep down, in the pit of his belly, it had excited him.
“Isn’t that a lovely picture of Celestria?” said Julia, pulling Bouncy onto her lap. “That was taken before her father died. She was still happy.”
“How is she now?” he asked, hoping that the tremor in his voice did not betray him.
“She’s still in Italy. I haven’t heard a squeak. But no news is good news.”
“The distance will be good for her,” he added, pulling his eyes away. The distance is good for me, too, he thought with a sense of relief. And when she comes back I will be strong again.
28
Marelatte
In the morning Celestria found Armel and Federica talking in the garden over cups of coffee, their voices low. When they saw her, they stopped talking and smiled broadly. “Come,” said Federica excitedly, waving her over. “I have something to tell you.” Celestria took a seat beside them. “Luigi, un caffé latte per la signorina, per favore,” she called to Luigi, who immediately spooned ground coffee into the caffetiere and placed it on the stove. “We have some developments,” she said, toying with the large silver Madonna that lay on her bosom.
“It is all thanks to your son-in-law,” Armel added. “The mysterious Hamish.”
Celestria felt herself blush. However, the two women were so absorbed by their discovery that they failed to notice.
“This morning, while I was preparing the table for breakfast, Hamish came in looking quite a different man,” said Federica. “He asked me about Salazar. He said he saw you with him yesterday and was worried. Salazar is a very dubious character. Not to be trusted. I hope you don’t mind, but I told him the whole story, as I understand it, and he said that if we want to learn the truth from Salazar we have to elicit the help of his mistress, Rosanna.”
“Salazar is a family man,” continued Armel, her fingers running absentmindedly up and down her scar. “He has five children and a good and loyal wife whose family are well respected in this region. He would not want them to know about Rosanna.”
“How do we persuade her to help us?” Celestria asked.
“Because she is Nuzzo’s sister,” said Federica.
“Nuzzo knows?”
Federica nodded. “Not only does Nuzzo know, but he is in love with Mrs. Waynebridge. He will do anything for her. He has told Luigi, and Luigi’s wife has told me.”
“The Marelatte grapevine,” said Celestria. At least the grapevine had not yet communicated her nighttime adventure to the bar.
At that moment, Luigi emerged from the kitchen with a silver tray carrying Celestria’s milky coffee. They paused while he put it down on the table, asked if there was anything else they required, then returned inside.
“What do we do?” Celestria said impatiently.
“Nuzzo will talk to his sister today.”
“What if she doesn’t agree?”
“We are going to appeal to her, together. Women to woman,” said Armel.
“We Italians take death very seriously, Celestria,” said Federica gravely. “If Salazar has indeed induced the suicides of two men, Rosanna will not want to shelter him.”
Celestria stared at Armel in confusion. “Benedict committed suicide, too?” Armel nodded. “You didn’t say.”
“I didn’t think it relevant.” She shrugged.
“The parallels are too striking to ignore.” Celestria shook her head. “There’s a pattern, but I can’t make it out. Am I alone he
re? Can you see something I can’t?”
Armel shook her head. “Only that both men were not the type to take their own lives. I say they were murdered.”
“So do I,” Celestria agreed emphatically.
“Let’s get to the bottom of it,” said Federica, rubbing her hands together energetically. “Besides, I’ve never liked that man. He’s much too pleased with himself.”
Armel lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the warm air. She narrowed her eyes. “If Salazar killed my husband,” she said solemnly, “I will kill him.”
“There are ways to take revenge without resorting to violence,” said Federica seriously. “It is far harder to live with guilt than escape it through death.”
Celestria thought of Hamish and knew that was true. Did he often wish to escape? Is that why he spent so much time in the mausoleum, praying for death to unite them and rid him of his guilt? Was death the light behind the door?
That evening, as Celestria was changing for dinner, she heard the melancholy notes of the piano. She knew at once that it was Hamish. She hadn’t seen him all day, in spite of having looked for him in every shadow. With growing disappointment she had sensed his pulling away. This was not the reaction to their kiss that she was expecting. With Hamish, there was no internal map to follow; she had only her instincts and the faith that they were destined to be together. She slipped into a pale blue dress and hurried down the corridor, her heart suspended until she knew whether or not he wanted her.
Sea of Lost Love Page 31